Tribulations of an Arsonist
by hjr
Summary: Walt has been turned in for burning Michael's raft before confessing to it, and must now face the consequences. He is in for a day of surprises. Now complete.
1. Awaiting the Sentencing

Title: Tribulations of an Arsonist

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or any of its characters.

Summary: Alternative episode where Walt has been turned in for burning Michael's raft before confessing to it, and must now face the consequences. He is in for a day of surprises.

Notes: This story takes place after "Numbers" and before "Deus Ex Machina."

Reviews are welcome. This is my first, and possibly my last, attempt at fanfic.

Now complete, hope the last chapter makes it worthwhile.

* * *

Walt woke up to yet another oppressively hot and humid day. Today he would find out what his punishment was for torching the raft his father had toiled so hard on.

Lying motionless in the cave and wrapped in a blanket, Walt recalled the events of the previous day. It turns out that he had been ratted out by some woman whose name he couldn't remember. She seemed to spend a lot of time swimming, and had even played backgammon with him once. Another time he thought he caught a glimpse of her hiding in the forest when he was practicing knife throwing with Locke and Boone. Perhaps she was some kind of spy; she also wrote a lot in some journal of hers. In any case, she eventually felt it was her duty to inform his father, Michael, "for the safety of the community." Her story was corroborated by the Korean couple; apparently Jin had noticed Walt's mischief as well.

Walt may have been too clever for his own good. Several days ago he had overheard a conversation between Locke and Sayid about a slow fuse, with the example of a lit cigarette. The raft was nearing completion, and Walt dreaded the prospect of leaving the island, which he had come to consider his permanent home. Therefore he put into action a devious plan. When Sawyer was off with Kate somewhere in the woods, Walt sneaked into Sawyer's tent and pilfered a cigarette from an open pack and a matchbook. Then one evening, as work had been completed for the day and no one was looking, he tied one end of a long vine to a piece of bamboo at the bottom of the raft, and the other end to the cigarette. He struck a match and lit the cigarette, and then quickly joined the others who were going back to the caves before sunset. Unbeknownst to him that lady swimmer and Jin had seen him do something, but didn't realize at the time exactly was he was up to. Thus Walt was at the caves with Michael and several others when an hour later, word broke out that the raft was in flames.

As the whole group raced to the inferno, Walt was shocked to learn that his device actually worked. His emotion soon turned to guilt, and he made a small futile attempt to minimize the damage by throwing sand on the fire. Quickly he decided that this gesture, plus his being far away from the scene of the crime, would draw suspicion away from him, and he went into his innocent act. Even so, he couldn't fool his good friend Locke, who always seemed to know what was going on around the island. Walt had gotten away with his crime for more than a week, but now not even Locke could protect him, and today Walt was going to face the music.

The day before Walt had to apologize to everyone, but particularly to Jin for letting the blame unfairly fall upon the Korean, and to Sun for forcing her to reveal her English-speaking ability before she was ready to. He even apologized to Sawyer for stealing the matches and cigarette, and making him look like a jerk for beating up Jin. Regrettably the apologies didn't sound completely sincere, as Walt couldn't look anyone straight in the eye and promise he would not try to sabotage the second raft if given the opportunity. After that he was confined to the cave. He was granted one hour of freedom to exercise Vincent, but that fizzled out as both of them tired of running and playing in the heat in half that time. The unrelenting high temperatures were caused by the bright October sun that passed directly overhead at noon these days. Sayid had explained that indicated their island was a few degrees south of the equator, but somehow Walt just didn't care. In fact, he hadn't seemed to care much about anything.

Walt mused over what form his punishment would take. He most likely would avoid a spanking, since his father didn't take that course of action immediately upon learning of his son's arson. But other possibilities might be worse. He might be sentenced to jail, maybe having to live on a diet of water and Jin's sea urchins for a while. His father, the construction worker, had proved to be quite a carpenter, already having built showers, outhouses, tables, and chairs from the island's abundant wood supply. There was no doubt he could build a sturdy prison cell. One drawback might be that building a prison might take too much time away from rebuilding the raft. Maybe Walt would have to perform a thousand hours of community service instead. That seemed to be a more popular approach for non-violent criminals these days, and he certainly wasn't the type to deliberately attack anybody. Paying a fine out of his backgammon winnings from Hurley was another possibility. But many of the adults didn't believe Hurley could make good on that debt, and nobody had any use for money on this island anyway.

There had been long discussions the day before on what should be done about Walt, while he had been essentially a prisoner in the cave. All agreed that he was not to be struck or physically harmed in any way, but something must be done to discourage this behavior in the future. There were a lot of extenuating circumstances in this case, as the boy had lost his mother two months before, and then was evicted by a stepfather who couldn't wait to get rid of him. The word "punishment" seemed inappropriate in this case; some form of discipline would be more accurate, even though Walt would consider it punishment. But still, the magnitude of his selfishness was astonishing, thwarting the other's chance at rescue just so he could stay on the island longer, perhaps even indefinitely.

He was old enough to know right from wrong, and the apologies were not particularly sincere. This time a fairly severe wound occurred, with Jin burning his hands in a futile attempt to douse the flames. If unchecked, Walt could well try another stunt that might cause an even more serious injury, or delay rescue by months or years. Yet the discipline should not be so severe as to permanently scar him psychologically; and the boy currently appeared quite depressed. There still was such a thing as rehabilitation, and Walt did not appear to be incontrovertibly evil. During the debate an interesting suggestion came from Hurley. Miffed that the person who took him for $83,000 in backgammon had just lengthened his stay on the island, Hurley wanted the course of action to be entertaining in some fashion, in a way getting his money's worth. The others didn't believe Hurley was that rich, or they might have suggested Walt pay a fine from those winnings, but the idea of doing something amusing to Walt had been catching on. Something that would convince him they cared for him, and were not his enemies. Something he might eventually look back upon one day and smile.

Michael roused his son from his reverie and told him "Time to rise, you've got a big day ahead of you." With a blank face, Walt slowly got up and went outside to wash up. On the way he patted a sleeping Vincent, who was curled in the coolest corner he found inside the cave entrance. When the Labrador didn't respond, Walt decided to let his best friend rest a while longer. Once cleaned up, Walt and Michael made their way to a table and pair of chairs located just outside the cave for their morning meal.

Due to the searing heat, Michael was wearing a light sleeveless shirt, open down to the last button, and faded worn jeans cut off at the knees. Walt, meanwhile, had resorted to wearing just a pair of purple swimming trunks. His mother had bought them because she thought he looked adorable in them. At the time that observation made Walt gag, and he didn't like them because he considered them ugly and too brief, showing off just about all of his skinny legs. Well, at least no one would consider him adorable now. He didn't care how he looked any more; all that mattered now was his comfort. The swim trunks were still quite new, while wearing the same pair of long shorts thirty days in a row had gotten nasty, and the shirts he still had were quite grungy and way too heavy for this weather. And his legs weren't that skinny anyway. Without changing his facial expression, he silently thanked his mother for helping make the current heat wave barely tolerable.

Michael sighed inwardly as he watched his son mechanically consume a breakfast of fruit, juice, and coconut milk. How desperately he wanted to make a true paternal connection with his son, but somehow things always turned out wrong. Despite his best efforts, Walt was drifting further away. And now to find out Walt burned the raft just to avoid moving again absolutely devastated Michael. Furthermore, Walt's constant frown indicated that he now felt everyone hated him, and continued life on the island was now going to be miserable. Even if the raft mission had been successful, it appeared that Walt would still be miserable. More than anything else in the world Michael longed to see his son snap out of this depression, and smile and laugh. Hopefully today's events would lead to that outcome.

When they had finished breakfast, Walt leaned back, folded his arms across his chest, and sullenly stared at his father as if in some act of defiance. This was Walt's way of announcing he was ready for the news of what punishment was awaiting him.

To be continued …


	2. Helping with the Boar Trap

When they had finished breakfast, Walt leaned back, folded his arms across his chest, and sullenly stared at his father as if in some act of defiance. This was Walt's way of announcing he was ready for the news of what punishment was awaiting him. Disconcerted with his son's gesture, Michael nevertheless managed to avoid make an uncomfortable situation worse, and explained, "Young man, you are going to start helping out a lot more around the island, but you will not go near the new raft." Walt's face remained unchanged as he learned that his penance would be of the community service variety. "As you know we haven't trapped any boar recently, and Mr. Locke has agreed to let you help him do something about that." For the first time that day Walt's face brightened a little. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all. "Now don't get too excited, you are going to do honest work, and Mr. Locke is not going to let you off easy. You will not touch any knives, and won't participate in any hunting, but apparently there are some things you can do. Those details are left to the expert."

Being suspicious, Walt finally spoke "So how come you're letting me be with Mr. Locke now? I didn't think you trusted him."

"I now recognize I may have judged him prematurely and too harshly. I honestly believe he has your best interests at heart, though we still have disagreements about the best way to proceed. It appears I made a mistake, and I am attempting to remedy that by giving Mr. Locke another chance. Similarly, you have made a mistake, and you must rectify that by accepting the consequences. You probably don't believe it now, but this will make you a better person."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," thought Walt as his sour face returned, "Let's just get this over with," as he started to rise.

"One more thing," Michael added. "It's obvious we all know it's very hot again, and you will be working hard, so have another bottle of water now. We don't want you dehydrated."

His spirits lowered once more, Walt glumly took the bottle and drank down its contents. He got up, stretched his limbs and went over to Vincent once more, who was now just waking up. The dog had just the energy to open his eyes. Walt petted him for a minute, and then sympathetically said, "Some other time, fella." Then he headed up the path where Locke would be, wondering with trepidation what was in store for him.

"Good morning, Walt." greeted Locke as the boy arrived at a clearing up the path. Locke was dressed in his usual faded green tee-shirt and light khaki pants, ever the military type.

Walt woodenly answered "Good morning Mr. Locke. So what is this all about?"

Locke explained, "The residents of this island have decided that it's time you started making yourself useful here. However, no one else wanted anything to do with you right now, so I agreed to let you help me with the boar traps."

"I can really help with that?" queried Walt. "What can I do?"

"Well, before you get started, have some water. It's hot, this will be real work, and I don't want you getting dehydrated."

"You sound just like my Dad now! What's up with that?"

"You have to realize that we both have your best interests at heart, though we have disagreed about the proper course of action in the past. Let us say that we are seeing more eye to eye now than before." Locke handed Walt a water bottle, which Walt slowly drained.

"All right," said Walt rather impatiently, "can we get started now?"

"By all means. In order to line up the trap I'm working on, I need you to stand between those two trees."

"Okay," said Walt unsuspectingly. He walked over to the indicated location at a junction of two paths meeting at the edge of the clearing. On his last step, he felt his foot hit a branch, heard a sound like a twig snapping, … and was suddenly knocked off balance by a well-hidden circular rope net that closed up around him and yanked him two meters off the ground!

"HEY, WHAT?"

A tangle of arms and legs was floundering in the net, which had been completely covered by dirt and leaves, and now was swinging like a pendulum from a high tree branch. So this is what Locke meant by helping with a boar trap? Walt hadn't considered the possibility that he was going to play the role of the boar. He struggled to reach a more comfortable position. Eventually he settled on sticking his legs up to his knees through gaps in the net, while sitting at the bottom.

"Very well done, Walt," Locke spoke. "The net is aligned, and the trigger mechanism works properly. Thank you ever so much for your help."

Walt was too startled to reply for several moments. Then the realization dawned on him. "Uh, is the reason you and Dad made sure I had so much water is that I might not be getting more any time soon?"

"Smart lad, that is an encouraging sign. This is what our council yesterday decided would most appropriate for you. One of my earlier traps caught a boar, but the vine suspending the net broke before we got back to slaughter it. So today you are going to test this net by seeing if it can hold your weight all day. But don't worry, I promised your father you would be home by nightfall. Also, I made a thicker rope from the vines and I'm quite sure it's strong enough now, but if it does break the ground under you is pretty soft, and you won't be hurt."

Walt gazed down at the ground now that he had just about stopped swinging. The net was about two meters away from the point where he had stepped on the trigger, where the ground had been pretty firm. Could there be a big difference? He supposed so; Locke wouldn't lie to him, although he certainly tricked him. Probably Locke didn't have much choice in the matter; it could have been worse with anyone else. Turning back to the more important matter, Walt questioned, "So this was your brilliant idea for me? Thanks a lot."

"Actually, it was Boone's idea, and you should thank him the next time you see him. There were lots of other ideas thrown about at the council yesterday, all of them worse than this."

Walt inwardly thought "that figures," and then with a touch of sarcasm answered, "Maybe you can thank him for me. So do I really have to sit up here all day?"

Locke just plaintively looked at Walt without answering, as if to say, "Do you really need to ask that question?"

Walt understood the lack of a spoken response. As if anyone was going to come by and assist him down. Of course not! Walt replied, "Sorry, I guess that was a stupid question."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Locke replied. "You are still young. Some day when you are older and have developed more control over your mind you should be able to visualize how and then get out of situations like this. Perhaps I could guide you, like when I helped with your knife throwing, but that will have to wait for a more suitable time. I have other things to do. Good day, Walt."

"You mean you're going to leave me alone like this?" demanded Walt, but did not get another response as Locke moved out of sight. Walt had conflicting feelings, was he frightened of being left alone, or would he rather not have anyone else see him trussed up like this? Maybe he was being spied on anyway, they wouldn't let anything too bad happen to him, right? He looked all around but didn't spot anybody else. He decided being left alone was just fine with him.

Walt examined the places in the net where two vines crossed. Each intersection was held in place by a tight knot, which was further tightened by his own weight. The knots were evenly spaced, leaving gaps wide enough for an arm or leg to get through, but nowhere near his whole body. Walt tried to untie some of the knots and made no progress as they were very well made. Frustrated at his situation, he pondered on what he should do now. He remembered several occasions when Shannon had nothing to do, and responded by sunning herself on the beach. So Walt clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back as far as he could, trying to turn the net into a hammock. This didn't work exceptionally well, since he was bent over too much at the waist, and some of the knots were digging into his bare back, but it wasn't too bad. With some shelter from the sun by the trees' leaves and keeping still, the heat of the sun was tolerable.

Walt had plenty of time to consider what had happened in his life. His mother and stepfather had hauled him around from country to country, never letting him settle down or make long-time friends. They frequently ignored him, always engrossed in their lawyer jobs, and left much of his upbringing to his nanny. The nanny would have made a better mother, he thought. He missed her. The only really good thing to come from those parents was Vincent, and even there his stepfather made it a point that Vincent was his dog, not Walt's. It was also unbelievable the Michael could just take him away from Brian against his stepfather's wishes. Brian was a big-shot lawyer, and could easily have dragged out a court case. It was clear that Walt's stepfather was eager to unload Walt upon Michael. So desperate that Brain didn't even fight to keep Vincent. Now Walt had to live with this other dad who had never visited or spoke with him for as long as he could remember. This father did get Vincent for Walt, and occasionally seemed concerned for him, but he was such a jerk! Always treating Walt like he was a little kid. He helped rescue Walt from the polar bear, but that never would have happened if Michael hadn't been so mean to Mr. Locke and burned Walt's comic book. Since that event island life had been pretty nice for Walt, and now his dad was determined to take that away. Why did his life have to be so miserable?

Walt shifted some, to get the knots placed in different positions against his back. Some self-doubt entered his mind, which now was quite a mixture of emotions. Maybe he really did deserve to be stuck up here. The look on his father's face when he saw the raft ablaze haunted Walt, and he also felt bad about letting Jin take such a beating. But Jin had attacked his father unjustly sometime before, so that could be considered getting even. Still all the others were upset that their rescue might have been delayed. But they didn't care about his feelings, and with their lack of knowledge of ocean sailing and where they wanted to go; there was probably a big chance that the raft would have never made it. Maybe he was a hero for stopping a suicide mission. Or maybe he just added weeks of work for everyone. One thing that was troubling was that he really had been thinking of how to sabotage the second raft. Could he blame the others for suspecting what actually was the case?

Unsure of himself, Walt eventually gazed upward to the top of the net, and asked himself, "what is holding this in place?" There was no visible opening larger than the rest of the spaces in the net, but maybe something could be forced open wide enough for him to climb through? Upon further inspection, the vine suspended from the high branch went through many loops at the top of the net, and then the end of the vine was tied around the vertical part at the top of the net. Sort of like one of those trash bags with a drawstring one can cinch up to close. So was that it, the others were all treating him like a piece of garbage? Something inside his brain snapped. That did it; Walter Lloyd was not going to be treated like garbage!

* * *

To be continued … 


	3. The Great Escape Attempt

Unsure of himself, Walt eventually gazed upward to the top of the net, and asked himself, "what is holding this in place?" There was no visible opening larger than the rest of the spaces in the net, but maybe something could be forced open wide enough for him to climb through? Upon further inspection, the vine suspended from the high branch went through many loops at the top of the net, and then the end of the vine was tied around the vertical part at the top of the net. Sort of like one of those trash bags with a drawstring one can cinch up to close. So was that it, the others were all treating him like a piece of garbage? Something inside his brain snapped. That did it; Walter Lloyd was not going to be treated like garbage!

Suddenly Walt was filled with a sense of excitement at this challenge. He was going to show up all those adults that they couldn't treat him like this. He would get out of this and find some way to get even. And he would do it unaided and barehanded. And barefoot, and bare-almost everything else, Walt thought with a little inward laugh, but that wasn't a problem. In fact, that only made it ideal, by being as impressive as possible. Nobody could possibly claim Walt was getting any assistance.

At first, Walt floundered trying to get up. His legs had been stuck through the gaps in the net for half an hour, and it took quite some effort to pull them out. He had to hold a confining vine with one hand and pull a leg out with the help of the other, and then repeat the process with the other leg. The effort caused sweat to start trickling all over his body, but now that was of no significance.

Walt began climbing up the inside of the net. It wasn't as easy as it looked; every step caused the net to jerk in seemingly unpredictable directions. After a few minutes Walt reached the top. Examining the top of the enclosure, he could the main supporting vine coming down from the branch, passing through many loops around the top of the net in a tight circle, and ending in a tight knot around the bottom of the vertical part of the line. The outside edge of the net was originally a large circle, but now was cinched up tightly in a small circle. Making sure his footing was stable, Walt reached over his head and grasped the part of the supporting vine forming the tight circle and tried to enlarge it, by pulling the main support vine down through the end loop. This effort did not succeed, as Walt soon determined that his own weight was keeping that circle of vine drawn tight.

Walt was not overly surprised with this development; Locke would never have built an easily escapable trap. Oddly enough, Walt was not too disappointed with this development, either, as escape would be not be particularly satisfying if it were that easy. He concluded that somehow he would have to get his weight off the net. This was the time to think—how could he accomplish that task when he couldn't reach anything else? This was the time to visualize escaping in his mind, Locke or no Locke.

After a few minutes, Walt visualized a possible solution. Could he reach through a gap, grab onto the vertical support vine with one hand, and force the circle open with his other hand, enough so he could get his body through? He scrambled higher into the top of the net, thrust his left arm through a gap and seized the vertical vine, braced his feet, and grabbed the circle again with his right hand. Taking his weight off his feet as much as possible, he pushed the circular part as hard as he could, and this time succeeded in forcing the circle open to about the size of his head. He held that position for five seconds, thinking about his next move, when his arm and pectoral muscles tired, his weight shifted back to his feet, and the circle closed up tight once again. But the momentary success sent a spike of exhilaration into Walt. He was convinced he had a good chance of escaping this demeaning prison cell.

Analyzing the situation, Walt moved around the inside of the top of the net, trying to determine the spot where his weight would pull against the circular vine segment the least. In a few minutes he found that he should be crouching just to one side of the main support vine. While he wouldn't admit to anyone else, he was now actually thoroughly enjoying himself. He had turned this attempt at incarceration into some kind of game, and was pleased with the way it was proceeding. This game he was really getting into was worthy of his intellect and athleticism. The thought of pitting his mental and physical prowess against this trap was invigorating, and brought about a rush of adrenalin. It was Walt versus The World; did The World stand any chance? Poised for another assault on the confining circular vine segment, Walt repeated his actions from several minutes ago, but this time was able to open the circle to the full length of his right arm. He lunged through the opening by straightening his legs, thrusting half his body through, but immediately after he did so, his grip on the main support vine weakened, and the circle closed tightly around his waist.

With the wind having been knocked temporarily out of him, Walt was not quite so excited about his present situation. But he had come too far to be defeated now. He set his mind to ignoring the pain, and considered how to get out of his current predicament. Maintaining his grip on the vines, he bent his knees and drew his feet up to vines close to the opening at the top of the net, preparing for another lunge at freedom. Once more strengthening his grip on the main support vine, he sucked in his stomach to get enough room to grasp the circular part, pulled that vine outward with all his might, and pushed against the vines with his feet with a deafening grunt. This effort resulted in his legs getting partway through the circle, whereupon it closed tightly just above his knees. But this was victory! Walt was now sitting on the top of the net, holding the main support vine with one hand. With the other he massaged his stomach and lower back and sides where the vine had been so recently squeezing, all the while collecting his breath as sweat was now streaming all over his body. Suddenly realizing that he might have been being watched, he scanned the surrounding area from his much-improved vantage point, but still didn't see any trace of a witness.

Soon the thrill over his escape overwhelmed the temporary pain, his breathing was back to near normal, and Walt was ready to proceed to the ground. From his sitting position at the top of the net, Walt carefully loosened and pulled one leg out of the opening, and then the other, always maintaining a good grip on the vertical vine. He looked up the vine; it must have been three meters to the branch, and climbing down from there looked dangerous. Surely it was much better to climb down the side of the net, as he had originally intended. Once at the bottom of the net it could only be a short drop to the ground. Thus Walt started working his way down the outside of the net very carefully, hand over hand and foot over foot. He was determined not to hurt himself in the process; the last thing he needed was everyone convinced he couldn't take care of himself.

In a few minutes Walt's feet had reached the bottom vine, about two meters above the ground. Walt supposed he could jump from here if he had to, but figured he could do better than that. He worked his way hand over hand downward until his hands were on the third vine from the bottom, stopping because his knees were almost in his face. Securing his grip, he stepped off the bottom vine, and in a controlled manner let his body extend fully. His feet were about half a meter from the ground, an easy jump. Still overflowing with energy, Walt figured he could climb down the last two vines hand over hand, and promptly did so. Now his feet were barely above the ground—this was his moment of triumph!

Walt just hung there at the bottom of the net, basking in the exhilaration of his victory. He wanted the feeling of euphoria to last a good, long time. He had defeated the grown-ups in their plan to incarcerate him like a dumb animal, and was savoring the moment immensely. It also felt good to stretch his body its full length after being cramped so much for well over an hour. He alternately shrugged his shoulders to work out the kinks in his back. The adrenalin rush added to his grip strength, and he was able to cling to that bottom vine for a rather long time as the net slowly swung to a stop. Hanging by his arms, his body, completely drenched in perspiration, glistened brilliantly in the sunshine that percolated through the trees. He might have been the model for a swimming trophy, or a work of art.

When Walt had dangled in that extended position for two minutes, he decided it was time to start planning what he should do when he sneaked back to camp hours ahead of schedule. Exceedingly pleased with himself, he grinned demonically.

* * *

To be continued … 


	4. Soft Landing

When Walt had dangled from the bottom of the net in that extended position for two minutes, he decided it was time to start planning what he should do when he sneaked back to camp hours ahead of schedule. Exceedingly pleased with himself, he grinned demonically, released his vise-like grip on the net, and …

SSSSHHLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!

Walt was dumbstruck to find that he had just sunk past his waist into mud before his feet hit a solid bottom, probably made of wood. This didn't make sense; he was almost within arm's length of the trunk of the tree he had been suspended from, and several roots were also close by. How could this be? Then he remembered that Locke did say the ground was soft underneath the trap, but this was ridiculous. The boar trap had been rigged so that it was situated over a recently constructed meter-deep mud pit, and he never saw it coming.

While Walt was trying to comprehend this new turn of events, he heard a laugh from just beyond the edge of the clearing. And then another, and another. The firmly mired boy just had to just stand there while the others revealed themselves. Slowly Walt recognized that he had been the victim of an elaborate practical joke. If it had happened to someone else, it might have been hilarious. Walt tried not to admit that this happening to him was humorous as well. However, he couldn't help picturing himself stuck in mud nearly up to his bare chest, and that image was just too funny. Walt could not contain himself, and soon was giggling, then chuckling, and laughing, harder and harder, at the absurdity of the situation.

Looking around, Walt saw that something amazing was happening. No one was fighting or bickering, which had seemed to always be the case recently. Sawyer and Sayid had always seemed to be enemies, and now they were standing side by side enjoying a good laugh. Next to them were Shannon and Boone, who seemed to have forgotten that they were constantly insulting each other. Jin and Sun had reunited, at least for the moment, exchanging commentary in Korean. Walt hadn't been aware that Jin was capable of laughing. Claire and Charlie stopped by, but had to leave quickly for fear that Claire's laughter might bring on premature labor. On the other side of Sawyer, enjoying the moment as much as any of the others, stood a smiling Kate and Doctor Jack, the latter being overly pleased with himself for his accurate psychological evaluation.

Laughing hardest of all was Hurley. "Well, good for him," thought Walt, "maybe he deserves it after he lost all that money to me." Farther away two people were busy writing something. Writing something on a pad was his father, and writing in that small journal was that swimmer/spy who was at least indirectly responsible for Walt's current location. Surprisingly enough Walt's recent feelings of pure hatred toward her had vanished. Finally, Locke was off by himself, regarding the spectacle at a considerable distance from the opposite direction, behind Walt, and maintaining his mysterious demeanor. Somehow Walt had helped everyone put their differences aside, at least for one day. It was a magnificent achievement, even if it was accomplished by a joke at his expense.

Walt was having a revelation. The fact that the adults had bothered to construct this mud pit indicated that they thought Walt would escape the boar trap, and in doing so were paying him quite a compliment. Despite his current situation, Walt was genuinely appreciative of their opinion of his abilities and determination. They hadn't been out to get him; in fact they had banded together to create this adventure. It worked because they had all acted like they wanted nothing to do with him, and his success left him feeling altogether good about himself for the first time in ages. His attitude toward these good-hearted people had changed quite abruptly for the better, and henceforward he would be cooperative with them.

Inescapably the center of attention, Walt was going to reward his caring and thoughtful audience with a show. He flexed his biceps and made a goofy threatening face like he was some comic book monster ready to come after his persecutors, uttering "I … will … get … you … for … this!" He then filled his lungs to capacity, and beat his chest vigorously while giving his best rendition of a Tarzan yell. He tried to take a step toward the others, but was too deep in the muck to do so, thereby substantially reducing the effectiveness of his threat and causing another round of laughter. Walt had heard the phrase "captive audience", but for the time being he would be the captive performer.

As he noted earlier some tree roots were almost within reach. The mud could not have been very thick or he would not have sunk in so far. Thus he tried rocking back and forth, lunging harder in the forward direction, and slowly made progress to the point where he could grasp a root. The others were enjoying the spectacle of the struggle, and it went without saying that no one would be offering Walt any assistance. But Walt would not have accepted it anyway. His mother and stepfather never let him play in the mud, so this was a new and fun experience. Also, the mud was significantly cooler than the atmosphere, and was soothing and comfortable in its own way.

Having grasped the root, Walt was able to pull himself close enough to grab it with his other hand. But before trying to extricate himself, another thought occurred to him. Balancing with both hands on the root, he bounced his body at the knees and waist, deliberately working his way into the mud until it covered his shoulders, and then reached his chin. The other castaways were treated to a maniacal grin from a head perched on the surface of the mud. When Walt had enough of his mud bath, he straightened up and began his latest escape attempt in earnest.

Maintaining his two-handed grip on the root, with a lot of effort Walt pulled his left leg upwards, and dug his toes into the side of the mud pit. He then was able to move his right leg up a similar amount, so that the goo was now just at his waist. He dug his other toes into the pit side, but didn't get as a good a toehold as before. When he next tried lifting his left leg again, his right foot slipped, and his center of balance fell away from the wall. Without any leverage, Walt had to watch helplessly as his stomach slid smoothly beneath the surface. But he actually enjoyed the sensation of the sinking feeling so much that he repeated the procedure, this time losing his foothold on purpose so that he sank almost chest-deep in the ooze once again.

Deciding that was enough, the next time Walt drew himself waist-high he stretched forward as far as he could along the root before releasing his toehold. He sank back only a little this time, and with a lot of effort, rocking his body from side to side and kicking but not letting go the root, pulled himself millimeter by millimeter away from the mud hole. After many minutes of substantial effort, Walt finally extricated his legs from the pit, and stood on solid ground for the first time in almost three hours. His audience saw a heavily panting figure thoroughly covered with mud from neck to toe.

"Looking good, Swamp Thing!"

That was something Walt could cherish, a new nickname from Sawyer that didn't refer to Walt's lack of height. Walt responded by roaring while pounding his now mud-covered chest.

"Hey, Lil' Dude, that was awesome. Totally worth every penny!"

It turns out that Hurley had been watching Walt's entire ordeal through binoculars from a hidden vantage point, ready to assist in case something went wrong. Walt was glad he hadn't known that; it would have severely diminished the excitement of his adventure. And now it looked like he wouldn't have to pay a fine from his backgammon winnings.

Hurley's expression made Walt think, and he asked, "Mr. Locke said the boar trap net was Boone's idea, but what about the mud?"

Hurley replied, "C'mon man, everyone's been bummed lately. You gotta agree we could all use a little entertainment."

Walt answered back, "Just as I thought. All right big fella, next time we play backgammon you're in big trouble!" Walt's effort to maintain a straight face with that threat was a spectacular failure.

After catching his breath, Walt started advancing toward Michael and the swimmer. The mud encasing Walt's body made even walking somewhat laborious. Before Walt could get too close, the swimmer ran off in mock terror toward the beach. He then approached his father, and asked, "What'cha writing there?"

"Uh, uh," Michael answered, "This is a surprise for your eleventh birthday."

Later Michael would reveal that the day before had taken a couple hours off from building the raft, and dug the pit to the right depth and lined its bottom with solid logs.

Walt thought for a second, and remembered that his father had sent him all those funny drawings on his birthdays, but had only seen recently for the first time. He guessed he would be getting a picture of Swamp Thing in a few months. "Okay. Then I can start helping on the raft now?"

"I hope you don't think I'm being too hard on you, but there is one more thing you must do."

"All right, what is it?"

"You need to take a bath."

Walt giggled, and headed off toward the world's largest bathtub, more commonly known as the Pacific Ocean.

His curiosity aroused by all the commotion, Vincent struggled to his feet and headed toward the source of the sound. Soon he encountered a lumbering mud-covered object dripping mud with each step.

"Hi, Vincent, wanna play now?"

Unsure of what the talking object with the unfamiliar smell was, Vincent turned tail and ran off towards the beach.

"Oh come on, don't you recognize me?" Swamp Thing increased his pace the most he could. Upon reaching the shoreline, near where the new raft was being built, he dropped into shallow water and started rinsing the mud off. It took some time, and Vincent warily watched from a distance around a corner of the partially constructed raft as the strange-looking object transformed in a being with a familiar shape and scent. Now sure of himself, Vincent charged as Walt started back up the beach. The Labrador barked as he leapt, giving Walt a split second to brace himself for the imminent tackle.

"Oof!"

Vincent knocked Walt flat onto his back, and started licking his face.

"Stop that, it tickles!"

Ignoring the verbal command, Vincent continued with his show of affection towards his master. Walt squirmed under the weight of his dog, but was pretty exhausted from the day's events. Having just had the wind knocked out of him, he was engaging in a losing battle with the well-rested pet. Consequently Walt had to endure the tickling caused by the slobbering creature. After a minute Walt could no longer put up any resistance, and lay helplessly on the beach laughing uncontrollably while being tormented by Vincent's tickling. When Walt starting gasping for breath, Vincent stopped, and apparently suddenly remembering that it was still quite hot, collapsed squarely on Walt's chest, pinning him to the sand.

"Oh Vincent, get off … ," but with his strength rapidly fading away Walt acquiesced, having neither the heart nor the power to push away his beloved pet. He was content to lay there the rest of the day, now as Vincent's captive. Walt could start helping with the new raft for real tomorrow.

* * *

The End 


End file.
